


not exactly Montague and Capulet

by oonaseckar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Capitalism, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Gen, M/M, Medicine, Mentioned Donald Trump, President Donald Trump, Trump is Voldemort, Trump supporters, Unethical Medicine, Warning: Donald Trump, donald trump - Freeform, he who must not be named - Freeform, obamacare, socialized medicine, unfettered capitalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Harry is an emergency room doctor.  Draco is a libertarian venture capitalist investment wanker from a rich, greedy, unprincipled family.  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.Oh, and they're exes.  And Draco is trying to buy up Harry's hospital, and turn it over to the most unprincipled money-hungry HMO-refusing management available.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long shift already, when the paramedics brought in the drunk driver. (And the man he'd mown down at a crossing, at 3.37 in the morning.) And Harry was already busy with another patient, a poor contemptible swine who'd tried to take his fists to the wrong casual girlfriend. (She'd been equally soused: had picked up a piece of the self-assembly bookcase they were trying to put together at the time, and laid into him with it. Harry had his lip bitten the entire time, treating him, with the effort of keeping in the words 'serves you right, buddy, serves you _right_ '.)

He was on the way to the reception desk to check the paperwork, after stitching the asshole up and sending him off to pharmacy to pick up pricey prescriptions, when he got an eyeful of the new arrivals, radioed in five minutes previously. The culprit, wheeled in first, was conscious, and easily identified. It was the way he was propping himself up, covered in blood, and yelling, “It wasn't me I didn't do it liars they're all _liars_ ,” that gave him away. And then, with the orderlies moving a lot faster, bringing up the rear with the second guy, Harry almost stopped his quick jog along.

He slowed, at least, enough to get a better look, to be sure. And then he was sure, even with the gurney moving at a rapid clip past him. Even moving himself in the opposite direction, as the charge nurse yelled for the other attending to _get his ass onside and with them._

Sure that it was Draco. Sure that it was his ex, lying bloodstained and motionless on the gurney, being wheeled away from him even as he made the I.D. for sure.

But Harry didn't pass out, or run after the gurney like an unprofessional idiot. He felt hot, cold, chilled in an unpleasant way. He felt like his blood-pressure had shot through the floor. But he only let himself feel dazed for a moment, then pulled himself together and kept on his own mission. It happened. Any attending emergency room physician knew the possibility of being right there on the spot, when a loved one, friend or colleague was brought in, hurt, injured.

It was a circumstance that raised interesting ethical and professional issues, but it wasn't a problem right here and now. Because a), he wasn't the medical professional who'd taken charge of the case. And b), Draco was nothing to him, not now. Not any more.


	2. Chapter 2

Except. He was _human_. And even if they'd broken up a year ago, no, more –- even if he'd thrown Draco out and considered himself well rid, at the time... Who needed a honey who was ashamed of you, after all? Of you, and of your friends: all you _pinko liberal Trump-bashing nutcases_ , wilfully wasting your expensive medical degrees on people who couldn't pay for your services, the uninsured, the homeless, the addicted... Not to speak of friends like Hermione, who'd dragged herself up from poverty and inadequate public schooling to reach as far as medical school... Which was apparently _embarrassing_ , especially since she didn't make any attempt to hide her background.

Harry hadn't been able to resist such a beautiful blue-eyed trust-fund kid as Draco, initially, and he wasn't ashamed of that. Everyone had a _type_. And while he wasn't exactly proud that _rich east-coast over-privileged Ivy League prep-schooled dudes_ tended to push his buttons, sexually... He had it in hand.

In hand enough, that he'd got increasingly ticked off over Draco's reluctance to take him home to meet his waspy blue-blood parents, down in New Hampshire. It would have spelled the end for them, eventually, for sure, if Draco's political career hadn't done the job first. Like when he was made an aide to his party candidate in the mayoral elections, and part of the ticket that candidate was running on was 'rationalizing' local medical services.

And that translated to closures, including closure of Harry's own hospital.

It wasn't that he cared so much regarding his own job, his own career. Well, he _cared_ , because he wasn't a martyr, or an idiot. But the real concern was the hospital, the patients. Local services. The people who would be impacted by this kind of economic brutality.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's parents are alive, and also religious Baptist revivalist nutters, who like to play with snakes at church services.

(Yeah, and he'd known what party Draco belonged to when he'd got involved with him. Except he hadn't exactly _gotten involved._ Or he hadn't intended it that way, at least. No, he'd just spotted this beautiful, jaw-dropping lush blond across a crowded bar, and the rest was –- more than it should have been, in retrospect. He'd made his move –- maybe a little over-enthusiastic, because he was totally lit up, and uninhibited as a result. One crazy night had turned into a hot weekend, and then...

Then Draco had invited him on a skiing holiday the next fortnight. And had quoted _sonnets_ at him when he'd woken up, bleary-eyed, in a hotel-room filled with blinding winter sunlight, bouncing off snow. Had made him sourdough bagels by hand, danced with him at a 30s tea-dance put on by his apartment building. And 'accidentally' stayed over, so many times that in the end Harry had just given in, and invited him to move in.

He'd acquired a cute, loaded, entitled ass of a boyfriend, without at all meaning to. And let himself get soft, get fond. Allowed himself to fall in love, in fact. Despite the fact that they were coming from opposite sides of the political spectrum, and had to avoid huge areas as subjects of discussion, for fear of getting into a row they couldn't talk their way out of.

No, it hadn't been good that it had taken repeated hints and finally arm-twisting, to get to meet the parents. (And Jesus, if he'd come out to his own parents, and finally got to the point where they didn't think he was on the autobahn to hell, then it could be done, and he was living proof. Except that wasn't quite the problem, it turned out. Although it took actually meeting them to bring the real issue out into the open.

The way neither of them, Ma and Pa Tight-Ass White-ass both, had been able to look him in the eye, but instead talked around him and gazed at something nearby had been a hint. But Harry had simply assumed that they were having difficulty coping with a son who was suddenly out and proud. Well, out, at least. And hunched in a delicate tapestried wingback chair in the corner of the drawing-room, red-faced and with his hands clasped and twisting together, staring down at his knees. As if Harry weren't there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

So his Draco was embarrassed, and stressed by being open with his parents about his sex-life. Well, that was understandable. At least, until Mrs T-A-W-A pressed another delicate triangle of poached salmon and French boulangerie bread on Harry –- still without meeting his eye at all, for one second. And murmured, impeccably clear despite the refined softness of her voice, “Of course, we always like to meet Draco's friends. Although he usually gives us a little warning, if there are any little surprises we ought to know about beforehand. And of course, we rather thought that he'd settled down with dear Benjamin... Have you met Benjamin, dear? Benjamin Schroder, of course. Of the literary Schroder family, and doing rather well himself. His new book of literary criticism just got a university press second edition, isn't that wonderful? Draco, did you know? Isn't that wonderful?”

A _Jewish_ Schroder, Harry wondered? Well, that at least put paid to wondering about one form of bigotry, regarding assumptions they might have made leading to this chilly reception. And then, Mrs Malfoy added, "And his uncle has a very fundamental role in promoting Mr Trump's campaign. The whole family are so proud."


	5. Chapter 5

So there and then, was where Harry realised that being queer, and having a dick, was not the issue that the honorable T-A-W-As, mater and pater, had with him. Nope, they were _just fine_ with their blue-eyed boy getting down with another dick-swinger. Maybe a Jewish one, even. Just as long as he was a dick-swinger with a fancy education, and a literary rep, and who belonged to a family they could name-drop at plush up-market soirees and garden-parties. And a Trump supporter. Yeah, Harry got it, finally.

And he'd thought he'd got away with his comments on Trump's latest spoonerism, and his regrets about being forced to compromise and vote the Biden-Harris ticket, just for the sake of saving democracy. That had been before Ma and Pa Malfoy had entered the drawing room, and he'd hurriedly stuffed away his phone, cutting off his call to Ron. Evidently not quite quick enough, though.

Draco hadn't had a minute to comment. But given that he'd not breathed a _word_ to Harry about being the hideous offshoot of _Trumpist troglodytes_ , not a word, not _one_ \-- well, alright, he'd admitted they were _Republican_ , but... But _Draco_ was Republican, for God's sake, though. It wasn't remotely the same thing. Not for reasonable people.

Mrs T-A-W-A wasn't the only one feeling like she could have done with a heads-up of some kind, going in. Jeez, Draco couldn't have _warned_ him that his parents were covert, polite, exquisitely civilised Trump supporters?


End file.
